Orphans
by Something Less Than Epic
Summary: The three-part tale of a pair of young Al Bhed and their encounter with extreme prejudice.
1. Orphans, Part 1

Celina and Mahri No'Jar, the twin son and daughter of Mehnki and Calli No'Jar – separated by three years though they were – found themselves at the top of a very high, very slippery slope of poor fortune and absolute catastrophe the night Sin decided to attack the boat on which they and their parents were travelling. It had, perhaps typical to fate, been a very rocky and thunderous night already: a giant monster rising from the depths of Hell itself was only a fitting way to top it all off.  
  
They were a small family of Al Bhed refugees, constantly on the search for a nice home: and despite their relatively nomadic and poor lifestyle, every one of the four could not say that they regretted life. Having a family – even under conditions of destitution – made everything bearable; and finding food in Spira was seldom particularly difficult. Recently, however, they had been given a sort of beacon of light: an Al Bhed settlement, known only as Home, had recently been established, and every Al Bhed was slowly being notified of its existence. A large, tattooed man had kindly informed the No'Jars as they walked upon the Mi'ihen Highroad, giving them the exact place and time where they could find a boat waiting to go. They were warned to keep it in strict secrecy, lest any Yevonites overhear and decide Home was a threat to their religion.  
  
Calli had been absolutely delighted to hear the news. Generally speaking, only Al Bhed ever truly treated Al Bhed with any respect, and the prospect that a collected community was underway made her practically squeal with glee. Mehnki had a few doubts, but eventually decided to follow along with his wife – the life of a perpetual nomad got a bit tedious at times, and having a place to go at the end of the day sounded rather nice. Their two children, ages eight and five – Celina the bombastic elder sister, and Mahri the withdrawn, somewhat shy younger brother – had thought the concept rather odd, as living with other people and not moving about constantly was a rather foreign idea to both of them. In any event, their parents decided it a worthwhile pursuit, and that was the end of the discussion.  
  
So they had gone, and boarded the boat. It was a little small, and cramped: however, the atmosphere, huddled together with almost fifty other Al Bhed, was decidedly genial, and the heightened spirits of the collected group made the trip more than bearable, even in less than favourable weather.  
  
Until the first night, of course. The storm had arrived, and brought an epic demon with it. On its first pass, Sin had slapped the side of the boat almost casually, sending it rocking wildly in the churning waves and tearing a chunk out of the hull. Water began to pour in, knocking out loose boards and soaking the legs of the passengers. Celina, screaming, clutched her fathers leg with wild abandon. Mahri managed to remain fairly controlled – for a five year old, and a shy one at that, he had the heart of a lion – simply grasping his frantic mother's hand.  
  
Sin Spawn began to rain down on the boat next, small, leech-like creatures with rending fangs forged of steel, which used those same fangs to rip both hull and overhanging roof to shreds. The rain came down through ever- increasing holes, drenching the frightened Al Bhed underneath. Every last Spawn screamed shrilly as it worked, as though a group of monstrous crickets, a sound that would fill the nightmares of Celina for the next few weeks.  
  
The ship was going down. The pilot was already dead, a spawn burrowing quickly into his face. And there was only one life raft.  
  
By the time Mehnki managed to get both children stuffed in – his ill-fated wife had already been swept offboard – he had already been struck by three Spawn, all of whom were burrowing furiously into his back. Their chirping drowned out his cries of sorrow; but a round O of pain, etched into his face, and almost sadistically enshrined in light for the children to witness by a blast of lightning, said it all. Celina cried out for her daddy, tears already flowing, but his fingers had already fallen out of range as the raft was propelled away into the night by a vicious wave. The twins had time enough to see their father plummet into the water before the store engulfed what had once been their hope for a better future.  
  
The twins huddled together, Celina sobbing and Mahri simply silent, and neither managed to sleep until the final clouds gave way to a gentle blanket of stars.  
  
---  
  
The island of Haliki was, for all intents and purposes, a veritable paradise. Small and sparsely populated, it was a bastion of Yevonite purity, a tranquil place that had the good fortune of having never been visited by Sin. Though bereft of a formal Summoner's Temple, Haliki was a community of very devout followers of Yevon all of whom made daily prayers and were constantly blessed by their ever-vocal resident Preacher. Only one man on the island could ever be said as somewhat lax in his religious zeal: perhaps it was the occasionally benign hand of fate that delivered the twins to him as he fished upon a beach near his cottage home. He had been idling away the wee hours of the day, contemplating what to do with the day, when their bright yellow inflated vessel floated over the horizon, just slightly east of the steadily rising sun. The man was curious, initially: what the devil was it? Eventually, however, as it grew steadily in width and breadth, he recognized it for what it was: an emergency raft. His rowboat was on the water in moments, and fifteen minutes later, both children, unconscious, soaked to the bone, and utterly chilled by the cool morning air, were stretched out on the seats.  
  
---  
  
Celina clawed her way out of her nightmare with a sudden burst of frantic speed. Her father had just plunged headfirst into the water for his second time, only this time, she heard the shelled Spawn very close up, burrowing into his back, sending rivulets of flesh and blood spinning into the air, when the moment simply became too much for her; and an explosion of disgusted, frightened, utterly horrified emotion not only tossed her into consciousness, but into a sitting position. Her scream all but shattered the ears of her saviour, who sat a scant few feet away from his now- occupied bed in a wooden rocker. His eyes flew open and he mimicked her performance, leaping out of his own seat and tossing up a weak yell of his own.  
  
Celina was absolutely frantic. Cold beads of sweat, mixed with dawning tears, poured down her small, rounded face, and her continued shriek of incredible despair continued unabated for a good minute and a half. Mahri, who had already awoken earlier and now sat looking rather sullen across the room, simply watched as his sisters' voice gradually tapered off, and failed entirely.  
  
Celina looked utterly lost, wrapped up in blankets and crying her eyes out. Mahri did nothing to comfort his twin, lost as he was in his own world. The man, utterly without experience in this field, sat and watched her a moment, as silent as Mahri.  
  
Girl and man studied one another intently. The man, perhaps sensing responsibility in his seniority, made the first move. "Umm. . . you alright, girly?"  
  
Celina, choking the words out between gasping sobs, managed a glib "Mommy and daddy where are my mommy and daddy?"  
  
Mahri shrugged as though the question was directed towards him. For an uneducated Al Bhed of only five years, he was quite intelligent, and seemed to have grasped the situation fully.  
  
The man looked about his tiny cottage in a fit of exasperated panic. "Uhh, uhh, I haven't a clue, lass. . . sorry. . .?"  
  
Her tears were renewed, and Celina buried herself in sheets.  
  
---  
  
The man had spent an hour trying to goad information out of Mahri prior to Celina's explosive awakening; however, Mahri had proven highly resistant to questioning, and refused to mutter even the slightest peep. This, coupled with Celina's emotional outcry, had both frustrated and bewildered the old merchant.  
  
For old he was: sporting a long, greying beard, and a back that was slowly folding in on itself, the man had moved steadily past the days of his prime years earlier. Once a highly successful purveyor of goods, straight out of Bevelle, he had fallen upon hard times, and eventually retired to Haliki for a decade or two of easy, quiet isolation before death. He could not be called the most stalwart disciple of Yevon, even in so pious a landscape as this island: his prayers were few, and he made a point of avoiding the Preacher if he could. The man was somewhat incorrigible, and a little loud for this aged merchant's ears.  
  
So he thought. Long and hard, he thought, leaving the twins alone, pestering neither. He'd never had a family, really: aside from a rather virile brother and his numerous spawn, the man had little exposure to children. So, he thought like a good salesman. How had he satisfied his customers? What had he done to loosen their lips along with their wallets. . .?  
  
Ah yes, of course; satiate them first. After drifting aimlessly on the ocean, these two castaways were surely possessed of gnawing hunger by now. His stands in the market had always boasted a few free treats for customers to nibble on, providing they were willing to buy something else as well. Pleased with his initial plan, he skittered off, tossing to the twins a cursory promise of good food before retreating to his kitchen. For whatever reason, it had never occurred to him to be surprised that the little girl had screeched out in Al Bhed: being a merchant, it was his business to know every language in Spira, and to know them well, thus making a mental switch between each a rather natural thing.  
  
---  
  
Celina could hear her hesitant benefactor rustling about in the adjoining kitchen, chopping and cleaning both meat and vegetables in relative silence. She rose above the covers after a few moments, a little happy that food was coming: her parents had taught her enough English to get by with, and she'd gotten the gist of what he had said. Mahri, on the other hand, had been very negligent in paying attention to the lessons, and thus knew absolutely nothing of the language. Hence, had he even felt inclined to answer the man's questions, he hadn't understood a single word of what was spoken anyway.  
  
Speaking of Mahri, he had clambered up on the bed beside his sister, staring into her big, emerald – now profoundly red, and bloated - swirling eyes with a pair that perfectly mirrored them, albeit crystal clear. She clung to him, and renewed her sobbing.  
  
---  
  
"Oh, bugger, she's at it again. . ." The man could not help but mentally curse: and why should he not be entitled to it? This situation had never been in the proverbial deck that was retirement. He hadn't signed a contract forcing him to take care of one absolute loudmouth and a stone statue. His wrath was bore upon the long, thin veggies that he sliced with practiced ease and arranged alongside some cooked local squid. It was one of his standard meals.  
  
No, not in the deck at all.  
  
His was only a small cabin, after all: a kitchen, a bedroom, a small living room with a nice view, and a porch. About fifteen feet from the house was a shed that served nicely as both a basement and, well, a shed: any superfluous items he no long felt necessary to display fell within its walls. It was enough for he, and he alone, to live comfortably in. So, how could he share with these kids? How was it at all fair?  
  
When he got a look at the little girl again, though, as she timidly accepted his proffered meal, with her huge, red eyes and shaking composure, he couldn't help but feel profound pity. Whatever had happened to these kids, they'd gone through hell.  
  
He allowed them to eat in relative silence, chewing slowly on his own meal. He would've thought that the squid would raise a ruckus, as most people didn't much care for the texture: the twins, on the other hand, both seemed to eat with great relish. He was pleasantly surprised at the development.  
  
After removing their emptied plates, he decided it was time to try again. Pulling up his rocker, he awkwardly addressed the children.  
  
"Um. . . hiya."  
  
Celina offered a small, mournful "hello" in response. It came out a little awkward, and heavily accented. The man mused on this, briefly, but another quick look into her eyes offered the truth.  
  
"Ah, sorry! You're Al Bhed, aren't you? E'mm cfedlr ujan du syga drehkc aycean. Cunno 'puid dryd." Despite lacking the deep, distinct Al Bhed voice, his rendition of the language was flawless, and perfectly understandable.  
  
Celina smiled a tiny smile, somewhat relieved that her host could speak Al Bhed, and feeling a little less miserable now that a good meal had found its way into her stomach.  
  
"Fryd'c ouin hysa, mycc?" he continued, now that the first hurdle had been crossed.  
  
"Celina. Yht ra'c Mahri." She nodded briefly at her brother, who still clutched his sister and watched the old man with distrustful, shying eyes. "Fru'na oui? Mahri inquired in a small, blunt voice.  
  
Simply speaking about himself seemed to make the old man positively beam, as though he were a national celebrity. "Sa? E's dra knayd sanlryhd, O'aka dra XVII, uv luinca!"  
  
"www. j-maxx.net /abtrans /translite. php" Note: Look here for some nice Al Bhed translating goodness. Eliminate the spaces, of course, as it keeps taking out the url when I put it in whole. 


	2. Orphans, Part 2

After almost an hour of constant prodding and poking – having gotten this far, he was not about to give up his advantage – O'aka managed to pry out of the twins most of what had happened: they had been caught by Sin at sea, and separated from their parents. O'aka, frankly, was more than a bit astonished that either of them was amongst the living, and Celina hardly had to elaborate on whether her parents were still alive or not for O'aka to get the gist of things. Indeed, she had managed to steer clear of the subject of her parents as soon as her father had pushed them on board the raft in her narrative. Mahri, throughout it all, remained silent, merely nodding at certain points as if to verify his sisters' claims.  
  
His interrogation complete, O'aka pushed back in his rocker, puffing on a newly lit pipe in deep thought. Small, concentric circles floated up into the air, breaking apart into nothingness upon reaching the rough, wooded summit of the room. What to do, what to do.  
  
O'aka wasn't sure, of course; it was a new situation to him completely. The very concept of having kids under his roof, under his very care, was one that had never occurred to him in his long life. Be born, sell lots of junk, relax for a few years, and die. It had been his plan for life, and though it could not be called particularly ambitious by most people, it worked well for O'aka.  
  
But. . . no kids. No, no, no. There was no sub-section of the equation that brought tiny, smelly children into play, pitiable and mourning though they may be.  
  
Yet, he couldn't just throw them out.  
  
With a loud, nervous cough, O'aka attempted to muster up a sufficiently business-like authority for himself. The less emotional the next few minutes got, the better it would be for him. How he would keep things outside of the emotional when dealing with an eight and a five year old, however, was beyond him.  
  
"Okay, kids. . . I think we have some things to talk about. Now, first off, I'd just like ta say that you're really nice and all, but, this place is just too small for three people. So you can't stay here. Okay?"  
  
They nodded mutely.  
  
"Okay. So. Next. I see you're obviously Al Bhed, and you've told me as such. Right?"  
  
Nod.  
  
"Okay. Good. See, there's another problem right there. Do you two know about Yevon, perchance?"  
  
Mahri contemplated the word a moment, but Celina piped up immediately: "Yes. They hate us, mommy said." Mahri sagely agreed with this assessment.  
  
The answer drew a gulp from O'aka. "Erm. . . yes, I suppose it's something along those lines. . . tell me, lass, do you know why they dislike you?"  
  
She pondered. "I think it's machina, right?"  
  
O'aka was delighted. "Yes, very good! Smart girl! Now, I personally don't have a problem with all that machina stuff. But, see, everyone else on this island does. They're all Yevonites, and really stiff ones, at that. If they found out you two were here, there would be a fair bit of. . . unpleasantness." A habit O'aka had developed over the years of wringing his hands together manifested itself at this moment, quite unknown to the aged merchant. "So they can't know you're here. You have ta get off this island, lickity-split."  
  
The twins could not have been more silent at this development. Celina looked a little terrified, as always, and Mahri wore an expression that practically screamed "Okay, what else you got then, you old coot?"  
  
"So yes." O'aka whet his lips and stroked his beard, mind racing. "Boats only come here every two months or so. And the last one was, I dunno, two weeks ago. . .? Either way, they bring supplies and such, but you can buy passage on for rather cheap. It's how I got here in the first place, you know."  
  
Mahri's expression shifted ever so slightly, ridiculing O'aka with "Oh? No shit?"  
  
Frankly put, O'aka was more than a little fed up with the boy, but how could one lose their temper with a five year old and actually win out in the end?  
  
"I'll pay your way, if you want. I don't use money much out here, and I have a nice nest egg stashed away in my little cabin here. Still, that's. . . all I can do."  
  
His fingers grappled with one another in a self-absorbed war. "But. . . the next one won't be here for a good six weeks. . . so-"  
  
His thought was disturbed by a sudden, harsh knock on his front door. "Citizen O'aka! Are you home?" The voice was deep and low, with a somewhat melodic undertone that gave one the impression of its owner being an excellent orator. O'aka, however, only looked very, very panicked at the interruption.  
  
"Oh, bugger. Uh, uh, uh. . . kids, under the covers, and don't move. Not. One. Inch." His harsh whisper managed to absolutely frighten Celina even further; Mahri, ever the pragmatist, simply dove into the blankets, dragging his sister with him.  
  
---  
  
Reverend Edmund Skarab – and a self-proclaimed Reverend, at that – was a man of Yevon, pure and simple. Dubbed 'Preacher' by all those who knew him, his mission was to not only spread the faith, but reinforce it: his was a belief that went beyond a normal Yevonite, even for those who lived on Haliki. There was ever a roiling, tenuous fire rumbling deep in his throat, ready to explode given sufficient provocation: conversely, however, his voice could be full of enlightened honey, extolling all the virtues of Yevon in the manner of a great monarch delivering a speech to his subjects. One either adored, or despised, the Preacher; O'aka managed to fall into the latter half.  
  
Normally, that would be all: despite all his thunder, there still remained the fact that O'aka had come to the island three years before the Preacher, and thus, possessed a form of seniority that kept the annoying religious fanatic off his back. Were the tables turned, O'aka was sure, he'd have been booted from the tiny paradise ages ago.  
  
At the moment, however, the Preacher managed to instil in O'aka the most profound sense of abject panic he'd felt since the great market crash almost twenty years earlier. Why now, why now? He thought in a tizzy, making quicker tracks towards the front door than a man of his age should have been able to manage. It flew open, hinges creaking, to reveal a huge, rather intimidating figure, face beaming with malicious good cheer. "Ah, hello, Citizen O'aka! Yevon be with you!"  
  
"Uh, yes, hello, Preacher. I'm sorry, I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment; just fixing myself di-"  
  
"Ahhh, my apologies! I just wanted to ask if you'd been attending my services lately. I haven't seen you in the pews. They're important, you know." The big man threw a rather suggestive wink at O'aka; O'aka could barely restrain either a shudder or a laugh, he wasn't sure which.  
  
"Sorry, Preacher, you know me. I'm always padfootin' my way around, here and there, and I lose track of the days so easily-"  
  
"Of course, of course. But, you know, Yevon waits for no man: if you do not seek salvation quickly, all is lost for your soul. Correct?" The Preacher's pearly teeth positively shone at this sentiment: and had he been twenty years younger, O'aka probably would have taken a nice, strong swing at every last one of them with his fist. The disadvantages of age, he thought inwardly to himself, a sigh echoing in every last nook of his brain.  
  
"Yes, Preacher. I'll be there next week."  
  
"Splendid! And be sure to drop in for a prayer every now and then. My fellow Citizens and I often worry about you. We only want what is best for your immortal being."  
  
"Mmm, I'll bet you do. Thanks, Preacher. Now if you'll excuse me, I think my squid is charring. Good day to you." O'aka finished glibly.  
  
"And to you, Citizen. Yevon be with you always." Rustling in his robes, Preacher bowed, gave the traditional hand signal of respect, and departed, his mind ever on Yevon.  
  
O'aka spun curtly and slammed the door shut. "I'll give you a prayer all right, you big goat. Coast is clear, kiddies!"  
  
Both twins emerged: Mahri's nose was slightly wrinkled in distaste at the sheets. "Smells old." He muttered to himself. Celina didn't seem to notice. "Who was that, O'aka, sir?"  
  
O'aka, wandering in and resuming his spot in the rocker, waved a hand. "That's the Preacher. Good for nuthin' lout, he is. Stay away from him: I think he'd go into a conniption fit if he found out you were 'ere. And none of that 'sir' hogwash, you hear? It's just O'aka." He sighed. "What the bloody devil am I gonna do with you two. . ."  
  
Celina scratched her head. "What's a . . . conn-nip-siun?"  
  
O'aka opened his mouth a moment, then closed it. What to tell a kid? "Uh. . . just picture his head blowin' sky-high, clear off his shoulders, and you'd be at least halfway there."  
  
Despite her dreary mood, Celine couldn't help but giggle at the thought. Even the corners of Mahri's mouth rose an almost imperceptible amount.  
  
That sound was like music to O'aka. He'd been alone for so long – granted, there were villagers about, but none of them ever visited him, and he avoided the village as just about everybody there got on his nerves – that laughter reminded him of how much he enjoyed the company of others. He laughed, too, and tossed her a genuine, if somewhat unpractised, smile.  
  
Oh hell, why not.  
  
". . . You kids can stay here, if you want. Until a boat turns up, whenever that'll be. It's not like we have much of an alternative anyway, eh?"  
  
Celina bowed, somewhat formally. "Thank you." There was still real sadness behind those words, as the whole situation had become a sort of realization and recognition for the young girl: her parents were dead. This man was taking care of the No'Jar twins now.  
  
The thought made her eyes well up with tears again. She sobbed. O'aka let her and her brother be, retreating into his living room and sighing.  
  
One dinner and a fine dessert of chilled, flavoured ice later, O'aka laid down the ground rules. No entering the village. This was an absolute taboo course of action. Avoid anybody who comes near the house, excluding O'aka. The old merchant made sure to show the twins various excellent hiding places scattered amongst the environs that surrounded his cottage. No leaving the house past six o'clock. No leaving the boundaries of O'aka's property. No usage of his rowboat without first asking. And so forth from there. O'aka was very explicit in his rules, ever the stickler for details, and made sure the twins knew each and every one before letting them go to explore the grounds.  
  
Mahri caught on very quickly: even though he was somewhat insolent towards O'aka at times, he managed grasped every rule and, despite not always understanding the rationale behind each one, he knew that grownups generally knew what they were doing. O'aka didn't seem to be an exception to this rule for the most part.  
  
Celina, however, had some difficulty: she couldn't always remember where the hiding spots were, and the thought that she couldn't interact with anybody beyond O'aka and Mahri was a bit disconcerting to her normally outgoing mindset. Eventually, however, he managed to impress upon her the importance of keeping a low profile – or so he thought, anyway – and she reluctantly agreed to his request.  
  
The first few weeks were a time of particular difficulty. Celina, seldom cautious, very nearly got caught by the Preacher on two occasions: he had taken to visiting O'aka more and more often in an effort to persuade the merchant to pray diligently. Mahri thought him an absolute nuisance, and hard to listen to, with his booming voice and long- winded orations, not that Mahri described them as such. He became the 'long and loud guy' to the stolid boy. Not that O'aka minded, really, as Mahri always did as he was told, a trait that could not be applied to Celina at all.  
  
She stayed out after dark, playing gaily in the jungle and sending O'aka on long romps after her. She floated out into the bay in O'aka's rowboat on three separate occasions, after which O'aka simply hid the boat in the shed. After five days, she started complaining about the repetitious squid meal. She nagged O'aka for keeping such a smelly bed, even though the old man yielded it up to the twins in exchange for his somewhat uncomfortable couch.  
  
O'aka was annoyed, exasperated, indignant, and swore often. He was also, although he didn't know it, very, very happy. After four weeks of occupation, he hardly wanted Celina to leave.  
  
Or Mahri, for that matter. Despite being rather cold and withdrawn, the boy was interesting company: Mahri seemed, at least to O'aka, to possess a very real form of adult intelligence that far outstretched his years. Where Mahri's parents failed, O'aka succeeded in teaching Mahri a decent amount of English, and the lad began to surpass his sister linguistically. He was also a nice change from Celina, every now and then, whose exuberance managed to wear out O'aka's tired bones come lunchtime.  
  
By the end of those four weeks, Celina had even allowed O'aka to hold her tightly as she cried about her lost mother and father. He had sat, rocking her gently, underneath the stars, a few tears running down his own face. Mahri hadn't even begrudged him the event, leaving them both in peace: then again, Mahri had seldom shown emotion of any kind.  
  
By week five, they were a true family. O'aka happily prepared any meal that was within his power for them. His expertly prepared squid, served with a dash of spice and a few veggies, quickly regained Celina's good graces. He took them both out to fish often, and though Celina was rather clumsy with the rod, Mahri managed to show great aptitude, catching four fish in his efforts. The boy had good reactions, and very nimble fingers: with some muscle behind those digits, O'aka figured he could be quite a force to be reckoned with, some day.  
  
Celina even began to call O'aka 'grandpa'. That word filled O'aka with a joy beyond anything his lonely heart had ever known, a heart that had suddenly burst forth from dormancy and shone. And, even though he dismissed the word outwardly with exclamations of 'Ahh, I'm too clumsy with a wrench to be some Al Bhed's grand pappy', Celina always saw the gentle curves of his mouth arch upwards whenever she used it.  
  
By the beginning of the sixth week, O'aka had all but decided to simply quit the island and find a new place for them to live: a place where they could live openly, as his grandchildren.  
  
---  
  
But fate would not allow such a thing; and Celina, seeking a break from solitude, shattered one of O'aka's rules, ruining paradise within paradise.  
  
---  
  
O'aka and Mahri were off preparing lunch – Mahri had taken to observing his new patron, with a mixture of partial distrust and absolute curiosity – when Celina invited disaster upon their tiny family. She was in the jungle, leaping nimbly over logs and chirruping at all the birds as she passed, when she managed to spot a young boy. He was some distance from her own position, and somewhat preoccupied, utilizing both stick and a particular poking motion together in a synchronized effort.  
  
Her first instinct was, "Good, he hasn't seen me; time to run." But her first instinct was, generally speaking, overridden quickly: this was reinforced by the fact that the boy appeared to be of her own age. Throw in that he seemed to have located something of interest, and Celina was already bounding towards him, friendly grin displayed wide.  
  
"Hi!" she called out, startling the boy. He fell over with a tiny shriek, stick flying through the air and coming to a rest in the leafy jungle floor.  
  
She stood above him, a friendly hand of aid proffered. He gazed at her, a little struck: it was a small island, after all, and she was an absolute stranger. Blinking rapidly, he took the offered fingers and rose, grasping his stick.  
  
"Um. . . Yevon be with you." His hands displayed for her the customary Yevonite flourish, one that she puzzled at.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
He blinked. "What's what?" He didn't know what was more puzzling, her accent or the fact that he had done something mysterious to her.  
  
"That thing. What you did with your . . . uh. . . hands! Your hands there. It looke-d. . . uh . . . "  
  
She pondered. He watched. Utterly baffled. Her broken, occasionally slurred English was an extreme oddity for one who had always grown up amongst his own kind.  
  
As she watched, something else queer about her struck him: it was in her face, her . . . eyes.  
  
---  
  
"The eyes that swirl are the sign of the devil, my son. Of Sin. If you see them, you must tell me. Tell me immediately, so that I might exorcise them from this paradise for good."  
  
---  
  
Those eyes, those vortex-like eyes, they threatened to engulf the boy, to pull in his soul. And he wouldn't allow that, now would he?  
  
". . . goofy! That's the word! It looked goofy. . . what's wrong?"  
  
The boy had drawn back, face flushed. He was caught between fear and rage. Turning, he screamed but one sentence before escaping into the bush: "Al Bhed heretic! Demon!" 


	3. Orphans, Part 3

Luck had never been with the No'Jar twins, and Celina's encounter with the boy in the jungle proved to be no exception. Little Pahlist, as he was known, carved a mighty path through the trees as he fled, thoughts of having almost been tainted by the demon frightening his senses. Those eyes. . . those eyes. . .  
  
Upon reaching the outskirts of the small, hut-filled village, he sounded a shrieking alarm, screeching "Demon!" and "Heretic!" in what seemed a thoroughly nonsensical fashion. Most of the old timers who watched his mad progression thought him to have lost his marbles, so little did he make sense: and Pahlist did not stop to defend himself. Instead, he made a direct beeline to the man who would be most disturbed by the news: his father, Reverend Skarab himself.  
  
---  
  
Celina was thoroughly puzzled by what had just happened. Was it something she said. . .? The boy had looked so frightened, and she didn't know why. Maybe it was something to do with what he'd been poking. Upon investing his object of curiosity, however, Celina found it to only be a small clump of rainbow coloured mushrooms. A little odd, perhaps, but hardly demonic. She promptly picked up his discarded stick and took a few cursory jabs at the bright, spongy, umbrella-like fungi.  
  
Demons, demons. . . wonder what – and then she stopped, and considered it. What had the boy said? 'Yevon be with you'? Did that mean he was one of those Yevon people who hated Al Bhed?  
  
"But. . . I'm not a demon, I'm Celina."  
  
Nevertheless, she decided to go with the violently erupting sense of urgency that had blossomed in her mind, and took off at breakneck speed towards O'aka's cabin.  
  
---  
  
The Preacher had been alone in his study, reading quietly, when his son came bursting into the room, face beaded with sweat and legs trembling. He collapsed on the floor, attempting valiantly to get out the news he had brought for his father.  
  
The Preacher rose quickly. "Pahlist! What in Yevon is the matter with you?" His big arms soon encircled and cradled the tiny frame of his boy, who looked to be battling in vain with his lungs.  
  
"D-D-D. . ." The word simply refused to exit his vocal cords, despite Pahlist's frantic efforts. Yevon, give me strength, he prayed mentally, and summoned all of his will to say what he had to say.  
  
"Slowly, son. Hush."  
  
"D-D-Demon. N-N-N-ear old man O. . . O'aka's. . . cabin. . . those e-e- eyes. . ." and he fainted. Pahlist had never been an athletic boy, so devoted to Yevonic study as he generally was, and such a dashing run from the forest to his father's study had put his body into temporary disarray.  
  
The Preacher had gotten the message, however. O'aka had been acting rather strangely, lately, as though he was hiding something: now it was clear. The old man was harbouring Al Bhed.  
  
"Ohh, a terrible judgement must be wrought today, my son." And he held his little Pahlist tightly to his chest.  
  
---  
  
"Gramps, I have something to tell you!" Celina, far more fit than Pahlist and with less of a travel to undergo, had little difficulty in speaking with perfect coherence.  
  
O'aka looked up from his nearly completed meal, one of boiled fish and sliced bananas. Mahri watched at his side, stretched up on his tiny legs to watch the preparations from atop a crate. "Oh, so I'm 'gramps' now, eh? Tch, kids."  
  
"Gramps, a kid saw me and he called me a demon! I'm not a demon, right? I'm Celina, right?" The little girl seemed more preoccupied with establishing her proper identity.  
  
O'aka, at current, had other things on his mind, however. He barely even registered the fact that a piece of steaming fish – meant to be quickly transferred to a plate - was clutched tightly in one of his hands, burning it a bright red. In his mind, a constant stream of images, featuring villagers destroying his cabin and killing the lot of them, with Preacher leading the pack, stormed about in a vicious flurry.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell." His whisper was barely audible.  
  
---  
  
Preacher had revived his son after a half hour of impatient coaxing. Pahlist then proceeded, after taking a long gulp of spring water, to describe to his father the particulars of the encounter: he had gone wandering in the forest, observing all of Yevon's creations, when he'd come across the demon with the swirling eyes near O'aka's cabin. He had then run as though the devil was on his tail, which, to his mind, may well have been true.  
  
"Yevon help us, our peaceful world has been intruded upon." His father was gripped by an iron resolve, one that insisted he defend his home and make the heathen pay. He gazed at his son, who could not help but flinch at his father's flaming eyes. "My son, go out and alert the people. Tell them I am coming to address them all on a matter of great import. This monstrosity cannot be allowed to escape. Go, quickly."  
  
Pahlist went, still a little sore but a great deal more panicked. His father, despite the anger that lurked in him, gazed almost lazily at the door that led from his study to the basement of his home. That large, red, mahogany door, adorned with a gleaming diamond knob. Both his wife and Pahlist had been strictly forbidden from ever so much as touching that door, and both had readily agreed to the restriction.  
  
That door. The monster would see what lay beyond that door before the end. Oh yes. Yevon – and its Reverend – would see to that.  
  
---  
  
O'aka dashed about his home in a fit of utter despair, gathering everything that was of value and could be carried. His money. . . his merchant's license. . . a few very old, and rather small paintings, reputed to have been done by Yunalesca herself in her youth, and worth an absolute fortune. . . some private letters and documents. . . a map. . . some food. . . the list dragged on, until O'aka realized he had neither the time nor the capacity to take all these things with him.  
  
Mahri sat upon the crate, looking a little puzzled. Celina was crying as she followed close on the heels of O'aka, repeating over and over that she hadn't meant to do anything wrong, and why was he picking up all his stuff and putting it in boxes? Couldn't they all just have dinner? He was scaring her.  
  
He stopped, hands shaking. "My girl, you have right to be scared. . . I don't blame you for talking to the boy, but, you really shouldn't have, Celina. . . now we're all in a lot of trouble, and we have to get out of here. . ."  
  
"But why?" She pleaded, tugging on one of his long, drooping sleeves.  
  
"Because Yevon is coming to see us tonight, or maybe sooner, and I don't think he'll be very happy with us, kiddo. C'mon, help me pack, please?"  
  
---  
  
"Citizens of Haliki! I have just learned of a pestilence that has infected our tiny community. My son has, Yevon bless his soul, discovered that an Al Bhed heretic has entered our island through some unknown means, and is currently being held up under the care of our resident outcast, Citizen O'aka."  
  
This exclamation brought outbursts of rage and terror from all sides. Nothing so apocalyptic as an Al Bhed had ever besmirched their tiny village.  
  
"But fear not! We shall not allow this creature to exist here. It will not draw Sin to us with its machina-using trickery. No, be sure of Yevon that it will not. We will act as the agents of Yevon, and cast this demon out, for the good of all. And, to ensure that this never happens again, Citizen O'aka shall receive his own punishment. Curse the Al Bhed! Curse all those who would invite Sin to remain on our beautiful Spira any longer!"  
  
This garnered a rousing roar of applause from the assembled crowd. A certain fiery purpose had materialized, one that was shared by every last soul in the tiny village square.  
  
"Come, my brothers and sisters: we must go to war, for the good of our people."  
  
---  
  
O'aka's mind raced furiously as he thought of what his little family should do. They couldn't stay in the house anymore: from what Celina had claimed, it seemed as though the boy had spotted her on his property. He would be investigated first, with all certainty.  
  
And that investigation, in all its horrific glory, would be coming soon: so far as O'aka knew, there were only three children on the island, and two of them were female. That left a single boy, and O'aka had absolutely no doubts as to whose progeny he was.  
  
The boat wouldn't be arriving for another week. If they could hide in that time, perhaps, they could stow away on it. . . but where to hide on such a small island? They would be found out within a week for sure.  
  
There only seemed to be one solution, really: try the high seas. They would take his rather miniscule rowboat out into the ocean, and hope that fate decided to shine upon their lives.  
  
This plan seemed entirely pertinent until O'aka, hefting a box in one hand and trying to move past the frantic Celina who scurried about at his legs, got a look at her face.  
  
That shining, perfect little face. It was terribly frightened: her eyes were wide, and swimming with tears: and where that boy had seen a vortex, threatening to eat his eternal soul, O'aka saw a swirling galaxy of absolute loveliness. There was no end to those eyes. He felt as though he could be lost within them forever, and yet, not regret it for a moment.  
  
How could he gamble so with a life so precious as hers? Simply toss a boat out on the salty sea, and hope their water and food holds out? He couldn't. It wasn't possible.  
  
O'aka watched her a moment. Then, stooping, he dropped his box, and clutched her, long and hard. "We'll be okay, honey. I swear we will."  
  
"Y-you promise?"  
  
"I promise." She sniffled. "I love you, grandpa."  
  
Mahri, deciding for once that he could not bear to be neglected, shuffled his way over, and found himself quickly embraced by the old man who, scant weeks before, had been nothing more than a stranger.  
  
---  
  
When the mob descended on the house, they found O'aka, alone, sitting in his rocker. A thin, finely ornamented blade rested in his lap. He appeared to be incredibly tranquil, seeing as how his death was imminent: and that look seemed to ward off all those villagers who approached him, save for one.  
  
The Preacher towered over O'aka, thunder lurking in his normally upbeat brows. With a booted foot he put a rest to the old man's rocking. O'aka said nothing.  
  
"Where is the little she-devil, Citizen O'aka?"  
  
O'aka merely looked at him, his mouth a thin, resolved line.  
  
"Tell me, now. No heretic will be permitted to remain here. Yevon forbids it."  
  
O'aka cocked an eyebrow. "Last I checked, you aren't Yevon, you damned goon."  
  
---  
  
O'aka had taken great care in hiding the children away several minutes earlier, in a very tiny alcove within his shed. It had heretofore been used for storage of a few valuables, his Yunalesca paintings amongst them: for now, however, it was occupied by two tiny souls, clutching one another in utter terror. O'aka had given them a decent store of food, enough to last a week, and instructed them not to leave the alcove for at least four or five days, and to avoid the village completely. He'd supplied them with all of his money – more than enough for passage on the boat, whose captain couldn't care less whether or not one was an Al Bhed – and given them a few cursory directions to the port, which sat some distance from the village.  
  
"Can't you stay with us, grandpa? Please?" Celina, begging with ever- watery eyes, had pleaded.  
  
O'aka had smiled sadly. "I'm afraid I can't, lass. I'm sorry. I think it's game over for old O'aka, here. But, buck up; living with me would have been boring anyway." O'aka had sniffed loudly at that sentiment and covered his eyes briefly. "Now, listen close, you here? Don't make any noise. Not even a peep. You have to be brave, and not cry anymore, or they'll hear you, and the jig'll be up. You get me, lass? Be just like your little brother, here."  
  
Mahri had closed his eyes mournfully at that.  
  
"But, grandpa. . . please don't leave us-"  
  
"I have to, lass. Please understand. And I have to leave now. But. . . just, stay alive, okay? Don't let them catch you. Grow up big and strong, and make your pal O'aka proud. You hear?"  
  
His face had been utterly drenched in tears as he slowly closed the wooden door to the alcove, carefully camouflaged on one side to avert prying eyes. "Thank you, kids. You made me so happy."  
  
Celina's final, anguished cry of "Grandpa!" – and had Mahri said it, too, or was that O'aka's imagination? – had been cut off as the tiny door shut with a click.  
  
---  
  
"You have one last chance, Citizen, before I have to bring down the full force of my Yevon-derived authority on you – where is she?"  
  
O'aka responded by slowly sliding the sword from its scabbard. Many of the assembled villagers pressed themselves up against the walls of his hut, entirely unused to violence: the Preacher, however, scarcely appeared to budge.  
  
"So be it." The Preacher's gigantic hand closed in on O'aka's head, and O'aka, giving one final word of thanks to those gentle children who had redeemed his heart, closed his eyes, and prepared to lash out with fiery steel at his nemesis.  
  
---  
  
However, no tragedy ever ends without one final, heart-wrenching twist: in this case, it was a twist that would determine the fate of one man for the next thirteen years to come. It was this twist that filled O'aka with the iciest sensation of utter dread he had ever experienced.  
  
A very familiar voice, somewhat wavering but steeled nonetheless, called to the Preacher from outside O'aka's cabin.  
  
"Don't you hurt my grandpa!"  
  
---  
  
O'aka's eyes flew open. "No! Celina!" He cried, but it was too late: the Preacher already had a grip of iron on his sword hand as he gazed outside the window, watching with cold fire as a small girl and an even smaller boy, hand in hand, beckoned out for him to stop. He grinned with predatory glee. "Ahh, Yevon smiles on me! The lambs come to the slaughter without even being prodded!" With a slight motion of his hand, Preacher sent scads of townspeople out to capture the youthful duo, which was done in fairly short order. Celina knew running would only invite disaster upon her grandpa, and Mahri, ever clinging, stayed with her. They were yanked apart, Mahri squirming with discomfort but otherwise quiet, and brought onto the porch. Preacher dragged O'aka out onto it, bereft of his sword, with a single hand, and tossed him onto the hard blanks with a pained thud.  
  
"Citizen O'aka. . . I should not have thought you so foolish. You should have known from your teachings that these. . . abominations, were forbidden from living here, let alone living at all!"  
  
O'aka ignored him, watching Celina as she struggled in the arms of a young man and an older woman. "Celina. . . why. . . why didn't you just stay there. . ."  
  
Celina screamed, her voice far more mature than usual. "Grandpa didn't do anything wrong! He's a nice man! Leave him alone! You just want me so leave him alone!"  
  
Preacher, his deep, thickly lined boots clicking insidiously on the porch, made his way over to the youth. With a rough hand he clutched her chin and yanked it upwards, facing him. "You're right, demon: we wanted you. And now we have you, you heretical, machina lover. Your kind brought Sin upon us, and it continues to have free reign over us all."  
  
With a wide flourish of his other hand, he encompassed the rest of the village, all of whom surrounded the porch, silent. "They, you would commit them to death, just because of your own selfishness? I think not. You will not be given the chance to perpetuate any more of your crimes here, demon. Neither you nor your fellow death-monger." He stabbed an accusatory finger at Mahri.  
  
O'aka looked at Mahri. The boy had always been rather cold: up until recently, he had treated O'aka as a sort of third wheel, and even today, wasn't the most accessible body to talk to.  
  
What O'aka saw in the boy at this moment filled him with more fear than anything else in the day had managed to instil. It was a quiet fire, yet it ran deep, and blazed in his core: one that promised absolute ruin for the Preacher. If Celina's eyes were galaxies, then her brother's were a nova, ready to engulf everything, even the human soul: and despite all the love O'aka held for the boy, he thought him to be infinitely more malicious than the Preacher in those brief few seconds.  
  
Preacher seemed to sense it, too. "Look! He wants to destroy me, the little heathen! Well, you'll have no chance, pup; I'll whip you into submission and make you see the divine retribution before you perish." Yet there was a certain level of unsteadiness in his normally booming voice as he spoke these words.  
  
O'aka yelled out for mercy. "They're just children! What the hell is wrong with you people? They've done nothing wrong, hell, Sin killed their parents, too-"  
  
O'aka received a heavy kick to the temple. Stars fluttered briefly before his eyes, and his head collapsed. Preacher, kneeling, grabbed a clump of his thinning hair and raised O'aka's eyes to meet his own. "Be glad, Citizen, that I do not deign it necessary to kill you. A lifetime of exile to think on your wrongs shall be sufficient." And with that final judgement, he dropped the old merchants head, hard, on the ground once more.  
  
"Come, my friends! And bring the heathens with you!" The Preacher, setting off at the head of the crowd, his fidgety yet proud son at his side, marched away steadily, his captives held tightly by the townspeople, towards home. His chest was puffed out with pride as he began, slowly, to chant the Hymn of the Fayth, a tune that was quickly mirrored by all those in the procession. Several men, however, broke off from the main group, and began to circle O'aka's property, dropping odd, runic stones at various intervals, and forming a large semi-circle around his house.  
  
O'aka saw none of this, though. He rose on his wavering hands, attempting in vain to stand, to run after them all, to save his grandchildren. But his legs simply would not agree to the request. They gave out. He fell. Tears poured down his face, and he cried, all in utter despair.  
  
The last words he heard of his poor, terror-stricken granddaughter, were screams of "Why do you hate us?", echoing in the steady noon air, as she was carried off to her death. 


	4. Orphans, Extra

Note: Something makes me feel as though I wrote this rather poorly in comparison to most of my work. As such, I'll probably end up rewriting this at one point or another. I just wasn't on the ball tonight, apparently. Ah well.  
  
---  
  
The rain poured down, perhaps reflecting the general mood of the atmosphere. It was midday: yet, owing to the foul weather, the streets had been all but abandoned. Most of the people sat secluded in their huts, praying or reading.  
  
Run run run-  
  
Small pools of tepid water steadily grew amongst sticky piles of mud, overflowing and creating tiny rivers that streamed out alongside the beaten paths of the village.  
  
-go quickly, please-  
  
They had no purpose, those rivers: they ran out and down, here and there, sliding betwixt towering blades of gleaming grass. A small, useless, temporarily interlacing network of rain water, seeking yet never finding.  
  
Indeed, there was no purpose in that flow. But the same could not be of the one who interrupted it, flopping down into the mud with a hard slap. His face was smeared with a tenuous mixture of mud, rain, and tears. With a shaking, thin arm, he attempted to hoist himself up, only to collapse again. The grime squished with a sickening sound between the rips in his clothing. He choked lightly on a cough and sobbed.  
  
-I love you, please go before he-  
  
His path was slow and laborious, yet it held an ultimate destination: grandpa. Grandpa could fix it, he could help, help them both –  
  
Thunder sounded overhead. His small frame, wracked with pain and misery, shrunk away from it instinctively. Half of him desired to vanish into the mud, to become one with it, and endure no more pain: but the rest of him sought out that calming, reassuring voice, accented and ever steady, sarcastic and yet wholly loving.  
  
-comes back-  
  
But it was not to be. No sooner had the small, crawling boy spotted the entrance into the forest than a huge arm encircled his waist and hoisted him up. At first, he was utterly confused: but as reality set in, he began to gnash incoherently, squirming with more might than he thought possible.  
  
His captor fought with him. "Whoa, kid! Ease up on the engines a bit, there! What the hell are you doin' out here-"  
  
But the boy would not surrender up his rage for anything in the world, let alone his usually rational mind. "Grandpa, grandpa!" he screamed, voice echoing in the greyed air. The thunder boomed again, but he hardly cared this time.  
  
The much larger man, face obscured by the darkness of a hood but with his huge, corded arms bared to the falling rain, pulled the boy into a tight, squeezing hug. "Shit, kid, there's nothing over there! Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt ya-"but his entreaty to the child was interrupted as vicious teeth bit deeply into his muscles. He yowled but did not relent in his grip: rather the opposite, in fact, essentially compressing the boy into his chest. Already injured, the boy simply fainted from the pain, his final raging squeal silenced prematurely.  
  
The man dropped his load into the mud again, gazing at his own arm. "Good Yevon, you little bastard, you've got a set of choppers on you there! I'm bleedin' like hell!" Ripping a swatch of cloth from his cloak, he wrapped up the injury, and kneeled before the unconscious boy. A quick check of his mouth confirmed both that he was still breathing and had not bit his tongue, which the bigger man had feared momentarily. He breathed a small sigh of relief.  
  
"Little bastard." With a large, worn finger, he roughly slid one of the boy's eyes open. Yep, Al Bhed. What other reason would there be for him to be groping around in the middle of the rain, in such a haven as Haliki? None of the residents would have ever allowed such a thing had it been a Yevonite out here. Sliding up the boy's shirt, he checked him over: his skin looked rather flayed, and very bruised, although the man had no idea whether that was his own work or someone else's. The fact remained that somebody had cruelly whipped the boy, and left him for dead.  
  
Or maybe he escaped. A myriad of possibilities flashed through the man's mind, all detailing the fate of the lad prior to their scuffle in the rain. These particular Yevonites always struck the man as particularly zealous, and not the least bit tolerant of those outside their faith. Hell, had the man himself not been an absolute bear, they probably would have called for his dismissal from driving the boat over every few months a long time ago.  
  
"Well, shit, doesn't look like I'll be leaving you to their tender mercies, kid. I have that much of a heart still, at least." Hefting the boy's tiny, immobile frame over a shoulder, the big man carried his load off to his boat, and far, far away from Haliki for a very long time to come.  
  
Ever conversational – even when the companion was deaf to his nagging inquests – the cloaked man could not help but ask his muted shoulder luggage "what the devil possessed you to dye your hair white, eh?" 


End file.
